Sunday Morning Experiment
by wdf221
Summary: Just a casual Sunday morning at 221B. Sherlock just wants to organize his books, John wants to know what is up with his best friend. (Just some sweet Johnlock fluff)


I do not own BBC's Sherlock or its characters. I wish I did though… But I am not affiliated with it in any way. This is my first fanfiction…ever. So thanks for reading!

It was just a Sunday morning, same as the last. Filled with comfortable silence, warm tea. John had been awake for around an hour, unable to fall back to sleep after the previous nights adventure. Then again every night since he had moved in was an adventure. Running through London, arm in arm with the mysterious Sherlock Holmes. Yet it seemed the more he got to know the dark man, the more mysterious he became. Sudden blurbs of words that the man himself would call "far too sentimental" were slowly being woven into Sherlock's vocabulary. He claimed to be detached, but last night when John was being held at gun point yet again, detached would not be the word he would choose to describe Sherlock's reaction.

John looked out the window and sighed contently. He often enjoyed the mornings where he got up early, while his adventures with Sherlock were fun, it was nice to get some peace and quiet once in awhile. Footsteps drummed across the floor, Sherlock was up. John sipped his tea again and tried to mentally prepare himself for the adventures he was going to have today. Sherlock materialized in front of him. John choked on his tea. Sputtering he managed to get out "Sherlock, what-"he coughed, "are you wearing?" A series of more coughs and sputtering followed shortly after John said this. Sherlock looked down at the bed sheet that was draped all along his frame.

"What John, are you afraid of anatomy?" Sherlock smiled, knowing quiet well how uncomfortable he was making John feel. _That grin. _John thought, amazed he could think of his face off all things right now. It was the kind of smirk that could get him anything he wanted, and Sherlock knew it. Sighing Holmes sat down in his chair across from John, a sliver of his leg showing. The man had been up for five minutes and was already bored stiff. John lifted the paper higher, trying to block the man out of his view. His feelings for his flat mate were a bit indescribable. John was most defiantly strait; he had dated dozens of women. Yet something about those dark curls and piercing eyes that made it impossible for John to hold a steady girlfriend.

John caught himself staring at Sherlock from behind his papers. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably; not so because Sherlock was in only a bed sheet, but maybe because John wasn't as uncomfortable as he thought he would be. In fact John seemed to be at ease with the fact that Sherlock was almost naked. Nervously he tried to change the subject. "So, Sherlock, have you got any plans today? I've just gotten a list of a whole bunch of clients looking for your help. I think we should start wi-"

"No, that's boring." Holmes said.

John was slightly offended that his friend interrupted him. "Well then what are we suppose to do?"

Sherlock got up suddenly, keeping the sheet close. Stepping to the window he looked outside, just like he had a thousand times before. His dark curls almost glowing in the early morning sunlight filtering through the window. "I want to organize my books." The deep baritone voice slide across the room.

John nearly choked on his tea, "you want to spend a Sunday locked in the flat, organizing?" it was almost unreal, the man who could never stay still wanted to an actual lazy afternoon.

Sherlock turned and looked at John, looking almost offended, "I am capable of spending one afternoon without shooting at something." John looked over to the wall with a spray painted smile. Well if there was anything Sherlock could do, it was surprise John.

He gazed in wonderment as Sherlock moved across the room to the book case where he began to organize his books. To John he seemed to be just randomly arranging them, but he knew that Sherlock had an ingenious motive behind everything he did. John had admired and come to love his brilliantly insane geniuses. Out of character Sherlock began humming a symptomatic melody while he moved about with books in hand. John watched the light hit his ebony hair, making the curls almost gleam.

Sherlock turned around and his striking pale eyes met his own. "Are you just going to sit there gaping at me, or would you like to help?" Sherlock asked. John blushed and tried to hide it. _Why was Sherlock asking for help?_ He wondered, John wouldn't be able to do much good. But he stood up anyway and went over to the bookcase where Sherlock stood. He was suddenly aware of how close they were.

"So um, what can I do?" John asked. Something was wrong, something is most defiantly wrong when Sherlock Holmes wants help doing a simple task. Without speaking Sherlock handed John a three hardback novels and motioned to the small side table. Wordlessly John placed them there, following his command without question as always. Sherlock reached up to the highest shelf, a sliver of his skin by his hips exposed as his sheet parted slightly.

"I thought you were so opposed against breaking the dust line?" John attempted to make conversation was the sliver quickly drove most appropriate thoughts out of his brain.

Sherlock turned to hand John yet another stack and the skin disappeared beneath his bed sheet, "Well Ms. Hudson started to dust one section before I could remind her so it is all ruined now."

"Oh," John mumbled, looking down. Neither he nor Sherlock tried to keep the conversation going. They worked closely at a steady pace and a comfortable silence fell across the room with the occasional instructions from Sherlock to John breaking it. Soon Sherlock stood back at clapped his hands.

"Finished," He said proudly. John noticed the gleam in Sherlock's eye that he got whenever he accomplished something. While this seemed to be a small accomplishment, something Sherlock never seems to be pleased with, John thought he should say something

He pondered what to say to Sherlock without sounding too stupid. "It looks better," was all John managed to say.

Instead of reprimanding and insulting John for his daft comment Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and sighed in slight annoyance. _Something is defiantly wrong_ John thought. Sherlock never misses an opportunity to correct someone. An awkward silence came over the room. John cleared his throat and grabbed a coat. "Well, I'm off to the store-"

"No, stay." Sherlock insisted. _What? Something must be VERY wrong._ Or could he possibly be getting those funny little feeling about John the way he does with Sherlock sometimes.

John quickly pushed the thought away, but he put his coat down slowly. "Why?" He asked.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, actually lost for words. Then he turned around and moved back to the bookshelf to inspect his work. John's heart pumped especially loudly, over analyzing everything. It seemed like he was avoiding whatever he was wanted to talk about, but there was something.

"Never mind, bring back milk," his voice quiet, almost unsure for once in his life.

Slowly John put his coat down, trying to look at his best friend. "What is wrong with you today? You never want to stay inside when there is most defiantly a case."

Sherlock turned around quickly and crossed the room until he was a foot away from him. Too close, Sherlock always stood too close and stared too long. Sherlock's bright eyes staring down into John's for what seemed like eternity. His eyes flicked down, seeming to glance at his lips for half a moment before returning his steely gaze back. "Not sure," his voice was quiet.

"Not sure? Sherlock Holmes unsure about something?" he couldn't help but work in his usual sass into the pressing question. Maybe it was just a habit to lighten the tension, with Sherlock there was always some sort of tension.

But he did not smile the familiar grin, "You are aware emotions are not my strong suit."

Secretly excited John asked "And what do you mean by that?" Though John knew what Sherlock meant. John was on the verge of freaking out and leaving, but then again, he seemed to really like this. He decided to see what would happen.

Sherlock stepped forward, even closer to him. "I think you know exactly what I mean." He said in that smooth deep voice that sent shivers up his spine. John's heart pounded in his chest, but he didn't step back. John knew that Sherlock had picked up on how he felt about it. When you live with the world's only consulting detective, there were no secrets. Part of John had prayed that Sherlock felt the same way, but it must be impossible. Countless men and women alike had batted their eyes and swooned at his tall frame, and he did not even notice.

"I don't think I follow," John stammered, unable to form words.

Sherlock reached down, taking John's wrist. One thin finger extending, surely taking his pulse, "it appears you do,"

John craned his neck to get a full view of his much taller best friend's face. Sherlock slowly leaned down and pressed his thin lips to Johns for half a second. Just half a second and he felt like he was about to faint. Sherlock pulled back quickly, a small smirk on his face.

"See." Was all he could say, and he appeared as breathless as John felt for once.

"What was that?" John's voice sounded much colder than he had intended it to be.

Sherlock took a full step back, seeming insulted at his smaller friend's tone of voice. "An experiment."

Now it was John's turn to be pissed off, "You just bloody kissed me, for an experiments?" he near shouted, "Sherlock I have told you before, you may not toy with people's emotions for simple experiments!"

Sherlock took back his step, equally as close suddenly. John tried to look away, he tried to be mad. "Not on you, idiot." John noticed Sherlock's thin finger taking his on pulse.

"On, yourself?" John's confusion was evident.

Sherlock nodded slowly, a small smile appearing on his Greek god worthy face, "Is it not obvious?" John's face stayed placid and Sherlock's smirk widened. "It is no secret the affect you have on me. You have noticed, Lestrade has, even Anderson makes comments. But I am Sherlock Holmes, these feelings are completely alien to me. So to make sure that I was not just-"

John grabbed his face and pulled him down into another kiss. He felt the surprise on Sherlock's features melt away. Finally John was able to run his fingers through his perfect hair, something he had wanted to do since he first saw him.

Sherlock pulled back, "I love you John Watson." He said it with the up most confidence, the same light in his eyes when he solves a case.

"I love you too Sherlock Holmes,"

Sherlock laughed, and kissed him again.


End file.
